


i'll come back when you call me, no need to say goodbye

by hihoplastic



Series: STV Tumblr Prompts/Reposts [7]
Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: F/M, Post-Endgame
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-30
Updated: 2015-09-30
Packaged: 2018-04-24 04:55:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4906297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hihoplastic/pseuds/hihoplastic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She stands when he does, watching as he recycles his mug before heading toward the door. “I was going to say, if there’s anything else we can do–”</p><p>“Come to dinner with me.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	i'll come back when you call me, no need to say goodbye

**Author's Note:**

> \- for @goshmonster, who requested j/c + "please stay"  
> \- title from regina spektor's "the call"

“I’ve got six meetings all scheduled at the same time, Admiral Nechayev wants me to read seven years worth of memos about the Dominion War, Starfleet still hasn’t decided whether the Doctor can keep his mobile emitter, Seven’s having trouble finding a place to set up her regeneration unit, and my mother is planning a dinner party.”

Chakotay smiles. “Maybe I can help. I just spoke with Medical - they want Engineering to copy the specs from the Doctor’s emitter, then it’s all his.”

“That’s wonderful. You kept on them?”

He shrugs. “I made a few calls.”

He’s spent almost as much time at headquarters as she has, long nights in her office, both of them pouring over memos and legal documents and reports. Though he’s still waiting on Starfleet’s decision, he’s been there every day, at her side, when he had no real reason to be and she doesn’t know how to thank him for it without admitting how much she’s needed it. How she probably always will. But that isn’t her place anymore. Maybe never was, so she smiles and shakes her head. “I’m sure you did more than that. I appreciate it. I’ve been meaning to, I just–”

“You’re fighting enough battles, Admiral. Let the rest of us take on a few.”

She nods slowly, finishing her coffee before rising to get a fresh cup and a mug of tea. He’d been surprised the first time, as if he hadn’t expected her to remember what blend he liked, and it still sits uncomfortably in her chest. The way it’s taken him weeks to be comfortable enough in her new office to come in and sit down without being asked.

The way they haven’t spoken about much of anything besides work.

They sit in silence for a moment, like they’re both grappling for something to say that won’t start a fight. That won’t open old wounds. She knows they’ll have to address them at some point, if they’re ever going to heal, but she’s not there yet and he doesn’t seem to be either. Or he’s given up, moved on completely, even from their friendship, and the thought leaves a sour taste in her mouth.

They speak at the same time:

“Is there anything else I can–”

“How are you holding–”

Soft laughter breaks the tension. He gestures for her to speak.

“How are you holding up?”

“We’re okay,” he says. “The Maquis aren’t exactly known for going down without a fight, and having a newly minted Admiral on our side doesn’t seem to be hurting matters.”

Kathryn nods. It wasn’t what she meant, but can’t bring herself to correct him. “I’ll do whatever I can. I’m not going to abandon them.”

She doesn’t mean to say it so fiercely, and Chakotay blinks in surprise. “I know that.”

She looks away, and he leans forward, setting his mug on the desk.

“Kathryn.”

“I just meant, you’re all still my crew.”

He nods. “We know. But we also understand how many directions you’re being pulled in right now. It could be a long fight.”

He’s giving her an out, and her first instinct is to snap. She doesn’t want out, would never dream of stepping back, and part of her resents the implication that she could. That she would ever leave her crew hanging. Taking a breath, she schools her features enough to meet his gaze.

“It’s been a long seven years, Commander, but it’s not over until everyone gets home, not just the officers Starfleet finds convenient to promote.”

Frowning slightly, he tilts his head. “Is that what you think they did?”

Cradling her coffee, she tries to force her hackles back down. She doesn’t want to argue - she’s so tired of arguing with him - but she doesn’t know what to say anymore. He used to be able to read her - to understand without words what she wanted to say, but it’s been so long now. She wonders if he’s forgotten, or he just doesn’t care anymore.

“Of course not,” she manages, “I just meant–”

“You deserve this,” he says suddenly, his voice soft but firm and her gaze jumps to his. “Whether it was convenient for Starfleet or not, you spent seven years in the Captain’s chair with no reprieve, made more first contacts than anyone in Starfleet history, supported a crew of 141 people and brought nearly all of them home. There isn’t a single person on Voyager who would have settled for anything less than what you received.”

Her chest tightens, more at the look on his face than his words. “I didn’t do it alone.”

He smiles. “No, but the fact that you’re admitting you did it at all is a step in the right direction.”

“Chakotay–”

He ducks his head, his words spoken to the floor. “You have to forgive yourself, Kathryn.”

She inhales sharply, but her lungs freeze when he looks up, eyes shadowed and expression full of a concern she hasn’t seen in months, maybe longer.

“I’m trying,” she manages, relieved when his face splits into a grin.

“Good.”

She stands when he does, watching as he recycles his mug before heading toward the door. “I was going to say, if there’s anything else we can do–”

“Come to dinner with me.”

He freezes, eyes widening, and she takes a deep breath to keep from barreling over herself.

“Friday night, at my mother’s house. She’s inviting her friends, and Phoebe’s family will be there. Not extravagant, but they’ll ask questions about _Voyager_ and frankly, I’m tired of talking about it.”

“So you need a buffer.”

It’s half a question, half a statement, more riding on her answer than she cares to think about.

“A friend.”

For a moment, he doesn’t move, his face doesn’t change, and she worries she’s said exactly the wrong thing until he smiles, a bit melancholy, but genuine.

“I’ll be there.”

“I’ll send you the details.”

He nods. “I’m having lunch with Seven tomorrow, so I’ll see what progress is being made on her regeneration unit and get back to you.”

Her smile feels frozen in place, cold water down her spine and she feels suddenly foolish. “Thank you,” she manages, wishing she could retract the invitation. “Give her my regards, and–” she pretends her voice doesn’t catch. “She’s welcome for dinner as well.”

“I’ll let her know,” he says, then excuses himself. Kathryn waits until the door shuts completely before collapsing into her chair.

–-

Kathryn’s grip is white knuckled around her glass, and Chakotay’s shoulders are stiff, the only sign he’s uncomfortable. They're used to it. They’ve both managed to smile, and tell the same rote tales, the ones suitable for polite company, but it’s beginning to fray on her already shredded nerves.

She isn’t sure she’d have lasted this long without him beside her, calm and steady, like he’s always been.

“Well, I think it’s nice when we can do something good for other species,” Ami says, tucking a greying strand of hair behind her ear. “Like that poor Borg girl. I read about it in the newsflash.”

Kathryn forces a smile. “Seven - Annika - is human,” she corrects kindly.

Beside her, Doug sniffs. “Borg aren’t human.”

“They’re many species,” she says tightly, “but never Borg by choice. Assimilation isn’t their fault.”

“So we should try to rehabilitate all of them?” He shakes his head. “She’s still got implants. How do we know she isn’t still connected?”

Kathryn opens her mouth to reply, but Chakotay beats her to it, softer and calmer than she would have managed. “The Doctor on Voyager is one of the best minds of this century. The only implants Seven has are the ones deemed too medically dangerous to remove, but they’re inactive.”

“Just like mine.”

Doug’s eyebrows shoot up and several others in the circle shift awkwardly. “Yours?”

Kathryn nods. “I have three in my spine. Do I appear Borg to you?”

“I–” he clears his throat. “No, of course not, Admiral.”

“Good. If you’ll excuse us.”

Slipping her arm through Chakotay’s, she steers them away, through the crowd gathered in the living room and out onto the back porch. It’s cold, but she releases him anyway, moving to lean against the railing.

“I thought you were having those removed.”

Kathryn sighs. “I will. Haven’t gotten around to it yet. According to the Doctor the recovery process will take six to eight months.”

“Isn’t Starfleet giving you a year’s leave?”

“Eventually.”

“Eventually they’ll give it to you or eventually you’ll take it?”

“There’s too much to do.”

“Kathryn–”

“I don’t want to fight about it.”

She glances at him out of the corner of her eye when he moves next to her, mimicking her posture, elbows on the railing.

“We’re not fighting. I’m just…concerned.”

She forces a smile. “That’s kind of you, but it’s not your job anymore to look after me.”

“Isn’t that what friends do?”

For some reason, the word makes her flinch, and she can’t quite hide it behind a shiver.

“Kathryn?”

“I’m glad you’re here,” she says, “I’m not sure I’d have kept my head this long if you weren’t.” She pauses, then manages, “I’m sorry Seven couldn’t make it, though after that maybe it’s for the best.”

Chakotay accepts the diversion. “She’s thinking about heading to Vulcan after she’s cleared. There’s a research center there looking for ways to reverse the assimilation process. They asked for her help.”

She knew it was coming, eventually, the day he’d leave, but instead of the sharp pain she’s always expected, there’s a dull ache, and it’s somehow worse. Heavy in her chest, and for a moment she feels trapped, suffocating, and forces herself to take a slow, measured breath.

“When will you be joining her?” It’s quieter than she would have liked, but her voice is steady.

Beside her, Chakotay stiffens. “What?”

“I was just wondering–” She shakes her head. “It’s none of my business.”

“Kathryn–”

She steps around him. “Dinner will be ready soon, I’m going to see if Mom needs any help.”

It’s cowardly, but she can’t help it, and uses his silence as an excuse to slip inside.

–-

“I understand some exceptions will be made for Voyager’s crew, but I think it sets a dangerous precedent.”

“Cheryl, please, let’s not discuss politics,” Gretchen says, her voice hushed. Kathryn pauses in the doorway to the kitchen, peering in to see her mother and three others in a circle. “Tonight is about family. My daughter is home, and I want this to be good for her. She’s under so much stress.”

“I understand that, Gretchen, I really do, but…it’s difficult for us. To sit at the table with…”

“He was her Commander,” Gretchen reminds them, and Kathryn feels her throat tighten and her knees shake.

“And for your sake, I’m relieved he was there to help,” another voice says.

She knows some of the people, old friends of her father’s, but others are new, parents and husbands and wives of those lost in the Dominion War. Phoebe told her their mother had joined a support group not long after Voyager’s disappearance, and she respects that. Her mother warned her before hand, that some of their political opinions would differ, but she hadn’t expected this. Hadn’t expected to hear the next words spoken.

“I’m sorry, Gretchen, but I just can’t sit at the table and eat a meal with the people who killed my son. I won’t do it.”

She’s not sure if it’s exhaustion or fury or heartache but she speaks before her brain has a chance to catch up with her.

“Then you can get out.”

Four heads turn, and Gretchen quickly moves to her daughter’s side. “Kathryn, I didn’t hear you come in, we were–”

“I heard.” She recognizes her own voice, her captain voice, her staring down enemies voice, and it feels out of place in the warm light of her childhood home, but she can’t help it.

“Look,” the man in the group says, “we respect what Voyager has gone through, we do, but you have to understand, our children–” his voice catches. “My daughter died fighting the Maquis. So did her son, and Janet’s husband.”

“I do understand,” she says, her voice low, controlled, flat. “And I am deeply sorry for your loss.”

His shoulders drop, and he sighs. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. I trust you can find the door?”

“Katie–”

“No.” She barely gives her mother a glance. “No, I’ve had it. I have spent the last four months every hour of every day fighting to get my crew the pardons they deserve. The Cardassians destroyed their homes and murdered their families and Starfleet did nothing. Commander Chakotay’s whole planet was decimated in the war–”

“He’s the reason it all started. That man–”

“ _Commander_ Chakotay,” she snaps, “was Captain of his own ship and when we got stranded, and took a demotion to serve under me because he agreed that pooling our resources and coming together was the only way we were going to get home. He made sure our crews came together, kept moral up, went beyond what any first officer should ever have to do and he did it without ceremony and with no expectation of reward. He kept me sane and grounded and pulled me back from the edge more times than I can count. Chakotay is the best man I’ve ever known and he means everything to me so you can say whatever you want about whomever you want, but you’re gonna have to do it from the other side of that door do I make myself clear.”

The silence that follows is deafening, and she’s only aware she’s shaking when her mother takes her wine glass out of her hand before it falls.

Cheryl clears her throat. “Yes,” she says finally, then adds, “Admiral.”

Gretchen steers them from the room. Kathryn doesn’t move - she’s not sure she can. Her head is pounding and her hands hurt from clenching but it’s nothing compared to the way the floor seems to vanish when she hears his voice.

“Did you mean it?”

Kathryn squeezes her eyes shut.

“How much did you–”

“All of it.”

She drops her head, fingers skittering along her temple as her hands shake.

“I’m sorry. You shouldn’t have had to hear that.”

“Your part or theirs?”

She laughs humorlessly. “Both, I suppose.”

There’s a pause. “I don’t want to make things uncomfortable for your mother.”

“It’s fine.”

“Kathryn–”

Gripped by desperation, she lays a hand on his arm, then quickly retracts it, unsure. “Please, stay. I don’t think I can handle another two hours without–”

“What?”

“Nothing.” She swallows, and manages to smile, somehow. “I’m sorry, you’re right. It’s not fair to ask you to stick around.”

Chakotay studies her. “Do you want me to go?”

“I don’t want you to be uncomfortable.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.” Tilting his head, he scratches his ear. “Actually, you haven’t answered any of my questions.”

“Chakotay…” She pinches the bridge of her nose. “I don’t want to fight.”

“We’re not. At least, not that I’m aware of.” He smirks. “Are we having a fight I don’t know about? Because I can’t very well defend my position if I don’t know what it is.” When she doesn’t respond, Chakotay steps closer. “Why did you ask me when I was going to Vulcan?” Before she can respond, he amends, “Actually, a better question is, why do you assume I’m going to Vulcan in the first place?”

“You said Seven was–”

“She is.”

Kathryn shrugs. “I assumed you’d want to be close to her.”

Chakotay shakes his head, but his lips are quirked in a smile. “You know, for as brilliant as you are, Admiral, you’re a bit oblivious.”

Kathryn blinks. “What?”

“Before we had lunch the other day, I hadn’t seen Seven since after the first round of debriefings ended.”

“But that was months ago.”

“Yes.”

“I thought you were–”

Chakotay smirks, but his eyes are tinged with sadness. “Asking never crossed your mind?”

Kathryn hesitates. “I didn’t want to pry.” It’s not a lie, not completely, but it isn’t the whole truth, and she holds her breath until he says,

“We’re not together.”

It’s ridiculous, how much lighter she feels. "Okay.”

Chakotay arches an eyebrow. "Okay?”

“I’m sorry,” she shakes her head. “I know you were…” she gestured in the air, adrift, and Chakotay takes another step, close enough to touch.

“We had a few dates, Kathryn. And then the other you showed up, and we got home, and I remembered something I never should have forgotten.”

"What?”

He reaches for her, backs away, and then takes her hand, fingers laced together.

“That you mean everything to me.”

Her breathing stalls and she’s not sure she’s upright anymore, save for the pressure on her hand anchoring her and she wonders absently how many times the world can fall apart and right itself in the same night.

“Chakotay…” He waits patiently, with a small, self-deprecating smile. “I…” She licks her lips, staring at their hands for strength. “I’m not good at…”

“Did you mean it?” he interrupts gently, thumb brushing over her skin and she doesn’t have to ask what he means.

She thinks of rules and regulations and tomato seeds; of letters from home and fallen plaques and the ground under their feet.

She thinks about waking up to that smile, his heartbeat under her palm, and for the first time, the word leaves her easily.

“Yes.”

He smiles, and she realizes how much he’s been holding back, all those years, all those moments, even when she thought he was giving her everything. "Then we’ll take it one step at a time,” he says, his free hand settling on her cheek, and she can’t help but tilt into the warmth. “We’re not fighting, Kathryn. You’re fighting with yourself. And that’s okay. I can wait.”

She doesn’t realize her eyes have slipped closed until she’s forced to open them, her smile slipping. "Haven’t you waited long enough?”

Chakotay shrugs, ears slightly flushed. "I’m not gonna say I’d enjoy another seven years, but if that’s what it takes–”

“No.” She squeezes his hand, settles her other palm over his heart. “No, it won’t–” She takes a breath. “I’m trying.”

“I know,” he murmurs. “That’s all I ask.”

Part of her wants to fall into him and prt of her wants to run away and part of her wants to freeze this moment, exactly as they are.

He makes the choice for her when he pulls away, so gently, his expression pained.

“I really should go. Your mother went through a lot of trouble–”

She lifts her chin and grabs his arm. “And her friends need to get used to the fact that you’re here.”

“Planning on having me back?”

“If that’s all right with you.”

“More than all right.”

She smiles, releasing him, and moves toward the door when he catches her elbow, draws he back and then he’s kissing her, hands cradling her face and it isn’t what she thought their first kiss might be - explosive, hungry, years of anger and tension and release dragging them together like magnets. Instead it’s soft, so tender she feels her eyes sting and she realizes, threading her hands through his hair, that it could never have been anything else.

He pulls back after a moment, hands falling to her hips.

Kathryn licks her lips and tries to resettle her breathing. “What was that for?”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

Her eyes jump to his, and she can see the regret - fear and hope and nervousness but mostly love. Mostly a promise.

Arching up on her toes, she kisses him again, her reply whispered against his mouth.

“Good.”


End file.
